


When I Look to the Future (I See You)

by benjji2795



Category: Check Please! (Webcomic)
Genre: It's mostly tooth-rotting fluff, Lots of Talk and Contemplation of the Future, M/M, Marriage, also the boys are actually in touch with their feelings, as unrealistic as that might seem, because at the core, for once, it's a once in a great while thing for them, proposal, sorry for any cavities, that's what i'm best at
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-27
Updated: 2017-06-27
Packaged: 2018-11-19 12:56:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,262
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11313864
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/benjji2795/pseuds/benjji2795
Summary: As he allows his mind to wander, to daydream and start to construct a picture of the coming years, he realizes it’s a startlingly familiar image.  It’s Derek sitting at the kitchen table, scribbling in one of his many leather-bound journals while Will cooks dinner.  It’s Derek lying next to Will in a massively oversized (and comfortable) bed, peering down at a book through reading glasses, the light of the lamp next to their bed glinting off his hair and illuminating the touches of silver in it.  It’s Derek on the couch, having fallen asleep while waiting for Will to come home from work late.





	When I Look to the Future (I See You)

**Author's Note:**

> Look who stopped being a shit and actually wrote something! Also this technically takes place in the same universe as _[Loving Myself (Because of Loving You)](http://archiveofourown.org/series/650462)_. Also Dex has two dads (though it's only briefly mentioned) because that's the way I like it (I have a whole document of notes about it message me on [Tumblr](http://benjji2795.tumblr.com) if you want to hear it bc it'll likely never get written into fic). Anyway, enjoy!

The game clock hits all zeros. The buzzer sounds, barely audible over the roar of the crowd. Will drops his stick, throwing his hands up triumphantly. The game is over, and _they’ve won_. In his and Derek’s and Chris’ last college hockey game, they’ve managed to win the fucking NCAA Ice Hockey championship.

 

Will is elated—he’s done what neither Jack, Adam and Justin, or Eric were able to do—captained Samwell to its first ever national championship. No disrespect to his predecessors and former captains, because they were all incredible captains in their own right. Will just happened to be the one lucky enough to put it all together. Building off past success, he got a few more pieces added to the team in recruiting, and in his senior year, Chris had become the best goalie in the entire country. Add in a couple of bounces of the puck that went their way, and they won the title. Will may have been the captain to bring the trophy home, but he’ll be the first to admit that his captaincy didn’t have much to do with the season they had.

 

That being said, Will certainly had a lot do with winning the title game. He had an assist on a goal by Whiskey to help tie the game with 30.7 seconds left in the second period, and a goal on a breakaway with 6:57 left in the third to take a 2-1 lead that they ended up not relinquishing. If not for Chris’ truly spectacular night (33 saves on 34 shots, including a couple of jaw-droppers), Will would be the MVP of the title game. Not that Will cares about that—he’s simply ecstatic that they won.

 

Derek is the first one to skate over, engulfing him as they crash backward into the boards. Will turns his head to look at him and finds that Derek is smiling so widely that his face might split in half. If not for their visors and face masks, Will would kiss him right now. Instead, he settles for shouting, “We won!”

 

“Yeah, _you_ did! Congrats babe!” Derek yells back at him.

 

“I couldn’t have done it without you!” Will replies.

 

Derek opens his mouth to respond, but the rest of the team has finally caught up to them, creating a whole team celly, everyone whooping and hollering their congratulations at each other. Derek’s words get drowned out by the din, but it’s okay. Will grins and knocks their helmets together. There will be plenty of time to talk later back at the hotel. Right now, it’s time to be presented the trophy and lift it up for the whole country to see—because Samwell University is the national champion.

* * *

 

Their grins still haven’t dimmed by the time he and Derek walk into their hotel room an hour and a half later. Will flicks on the light switch, turning on the lamps scattered around their room, bathing it in a soft, yellow glow. Derek drops their bags on the floor near the closet area, then turns and places his hands on Will’s hips, drawing him close.

 

Will exhales contentedly, winding his arms around Derek’s neck and softly knocking their foreheads together. They don’t have long to stand here like this, just the two of them, quietly enjoying being close to each other—most of the graduated players from the past three years came to the game and are taking them out to celebrate soon. But Will wants to savor every second of this.

 

“You were incredible,” Derek says softly, so much pride in his voice that Will can barely stand it. “I’m so proud. My boyfriend, the captain, won us the championship.”

 

Will blushes and turns to bury his head in the crook of Derek’s neck. “It wasn’t all me,” he mumbles. “I had a lot of help.”

 

“Will, babe,” Derek says, his hand rubbing slow circles in Will’s back. “I was standing right there when you were being interviewed. Your goal was unassisted. You scored the winning goal _all by yourself_.”

 

“That’s not what I mean,” Will replies, pulling his face out of Derek’s neck.

 

“What do you mean then?” Derek asks. Will’s amber eyes meet Derek’s green eyes and his stomach erupts with butterflies. Three years he’s been in love with Derek, and he still reacts intensely to deeply intimate moments like this as if he had just fallen in love.

 

“I mean—without you—without us, I would’ve never—I’m not—I owe where I am mostly to you. Everything we’ve shared the last three years—and maybe even a few things from when we wanted to kill each other—has changed me. I’ve grown so much because of you and I just—”

 

Will stops, and something he doesn’t know how to say hangs there at the tip of his tongue. He keeps his eyes locked on Derek, trying to work through what it is, and Derek waits patiently. He knows that Will isn’t always the best at communicating his feelings with words, and that sometimes it takes him a while to say what he’s feeling.

 

Still, after a minute, Will has nothing. So many feelings are swirling around in his head that it’s impossible to pick out one to articulate. There’s a sense of satisfaction at what they’ve accomplished, sadness that this was their last college hockey game, a sense of comfort and contentedness about being here in this moment, and a feeling of love for Derek that’s too strong, that defies any of the words that Will knows.

 

“I love you,” he finally chokes out, though it’s incomplete, falling far short of communicating what he wants Derek to know.

 

Derek looks at him like he completely understands what’s going through Will’s head. “I love you too,” he says, then kisses him softly.

 

It’s at this moment that Will realizes that he’s started crying and he’s not even sure why. Derek notices too, and he doesn’t say anything, he just pulls Will over to the bed, lying on his back and pulling Will on top of him. Will puts his face in Derek’s chest, and Derek starts to slowly card his fingers through Will’s hair.

 

“You alright babe?” Derek whispers.

 

Will isn’t sure how to answer. He’s alright—but he’s also not. It doesn’t make sense, but then again, since he doesn’t seem to be able to make sense of anything happening in his mind at the moment, it’s not a surprising conclusion to come to.

 

“I—I’m just—I’m feeling so much right now,” Will manages to sputter out. “I don’t—I just—I love you so much but I can’t—there aren’t—”

 

“You can’t find the words,” Derek finishes for him. “Shh, it’s okay. I get it.”

 

“But how can you get it if I can’t figure out—if I don’t know how to say it?” Will questions with a sniffle.

 

“Because I just do,” Derek says, smiling softly. “We poets, we just have a sense of the unsayable.”

 

Will giggles wetly. “That was so pretentious. I should punch you.”

 

“C’mon babe, we were having a moment and you ruined it,” Derek says, a hint of fond exasperation in his voice.

 

“You say that like you’re not used to me doing that,” Will says, rolling off of Derek and shuffling around so he’s lying right next him, their heads even with each other.

 

“Of course I’m used to it,” Derek replies, turning over onto his side. “That doesn’t mean I can’t be annoyed by it.”

 

“Fine,” Will huffs.

 

Just then, there’s a knock at the door. “Yo bros!” someone—it sounds like either Ransom or Holster (or possibly both)—yells. “Everyone is waiting on you two lovebirds! Stop macking and get your asses down here!”

 

Will instinctively flips them off, even though they can’t see him (Derek laughs and says as much—the asshole).

 

“We don’t have to go out with them if you don’t want to,” Derek says, grabbing Will’s hand as they sit up.

 

“Chowder would probably cry if we didn’t,” Will points out.

 

“C’s gonna cry at like, two beers in anyway,” Derek shrugs.

 

“I bet it won’t even take one,” Will counters.

 

“Ooh, a bet.” Derek smirks. “What’s the prize?”

 

“Bathroom blowjob?” Will replies.

 

“I’m fucking in,” Derek says.

 

“Great! You better get ready to suck my dick then,” Will snickers.

 

“In your dreams Dex,” Derek scoffs.

 

“You might want to grab your knee pads, I can’t imagine kneeling on tile floors is very comfortable,” Will continues, and Derek just rolls his eyes.

 

“You might want to take your own advice then,” Derek replies smartly.

 

“Trust me, I’m not going to lose,” Will says. “I know just want to say to get Chowder crying in three seconds flat.”

 

Derek narrows his eyes. “You wouldn’t dare.”

 

“Try me _bitch_ ,” Will replies so sternly and so forcefully that he causes himself to bust out into laughter. It takes a second, but Derek starts laughing with him, and soon they’re holding onto each other, trying to stay upright even as they both start doubling over.

 

“We don’t need a bet,” Derek says finally, wiping tears from the corners of his eyes. “Let’s just blow each other in the bathroom because that’s fucking _hot_.”

 

“Dude, I love you, you’re so right,” Will says, grabbing their coats.

 

“I know,” Derek says, smirking so obscenely that Will can’t stand it.

 

“Alright, _Han_ ,” he says before kissing it off his face.

 

Someone bangs on the door again.

 

“Come on fuckers!” the person (this time it seems to be Shitty) shouts. “I don’t care how close you are to coming, get the fuck out here! We’re not waiting for your goddamn orgasm any longer!”

 

Will flushes and shouts back, “We’re coming,” before adding quietly under his breath, “later. Just not yet.”

 

Derek cackles as he pushes Will toward the door.

* * *

 

Four days later, Will finds an email in his inbox from an address that he doesn’t recognize. That, in and of itself is not horribly unusual because Will is too lazy to set up a decent spam filter. What catches his attention before he immediately sends it to the trash is the at attached to the end of the email address—daniel.conner@schooners.com. This is enough to stop Will in his tracks. His hands are shaking slightly as he taps on it.

 

_To: poindexterw2428_

_From: Daniel Conner_

_Subject: NHL Opportunities_

 

_Mr. Poindexter,_

_Good morning. My name is Dan and I work for the Seattle Schooners scouting department. I was at the NCAA championship game a few days ago, and I was quite impressed by your performance. You showed leadership, poise, and determination in leading your team from behind to win the title. The Schooners have been watching you closely throughout the season, and we believe that you have great potential as a future NHL player on our blue line. I would like to talk to you as soon as is possible, either in person or over the phone, to discuss a possible contract with the team. I can be reached at this email address, or by phone at (206) 684-2365. I look forward to speaking with you soon._

_Sincerely,_

_Dan Conner_

_Scout, Seattle Schooners_

 

Will simply stares at his phone for the next five minutes. He’s trying to process what he’s just read. The Schooners—a fucking _NHL team_ —are telling him that they’re interested in signing him. Will is shocked, surprised, and elated all at the same time. He loves hockey, more than most things in his life, but he’s never given serious thought to playing professionally. Though, to be fair, he hasn’t given much thought to his future, period. He has bookmarked the pages of a few companies he thinks might be interesting to work for, but that’s it.

 

He’s been going through college with the assumption that his competitive hockey career would be over once he graduated. He was good enough to get a scholarship to play college hockey, but he’s never thought that he would get good enough to warrant NHL consideration. The plan was to play hockey at Samwell for four years, then get a job and probably continue playing hockey, but not doing anything more serious than an evening rec league.

 

As Will considers how his entire post-college plan has been turned on its head, his phone buzzes as he receives another email. Will goes back to his inbox and immediately recognizes the sender. It’s Georgia Martin, who, as of last year, had been promoted to Jack’s GM in Providence.

 

“Holy _shit_ ,” Will mutters under his breath. The fucking GM of the Falconers emailed him—subject line: NHL Future—so probably to say the same thing the Schooners scout did (not that he’s in any state of mind to read it right now, he’s too shocked). Two teams—two!—are interested in signing him to play hockey beyond the collegiate level.

 

It’s a lot to process, so Will decides to take the rest of the day to think about who he wants to respond to, and what he wants to say.

 

By the end of the day, when Will finally checks his email again, there are eight more emails from different teams. Half of them, he’s not even remotely interested in, but he reads all the emails just to see what they have to say about him (so sue him, he has a bit of an ego).

 

They’re all pretty straightforward—congratulating him on winning the title, saying that they’ve been scouting him most of the year, and that they think his talent might be a good fit for their organization. The last one he reads, however, is nothing like all the others, and his face flushes in anger as he reads.

 

_To: poindexter2428_

_From: Martin Carroll_

_Subject: Future beyond college hockey_

_Dear Mr. Poindexter,_

_Hello, I work as a scout for the Las Vegas Aces, and I’m contacting you to see if you had considered a future playing in the NHL. I have watched tape on many of your games, as well as attending your semi-final and championship game. Our scouting director and myself believe that you have a lot of talent, and would be able to fill a great need for our organization._

_However, in doing some preliminary background checking, I have come across a few things that concern me. On social media, you make many references to being “gay” and having a “boyfriend,” and I am concerned that this alternative lifestyle doesn’t fit with the family values that I believe are core to our organization. In fairness to you though, and because you have considerable talent and potential, I will not make any assumptions, and wait until I speak with you to draw any conclusions about what I have seen._

_I look forward to speaking with you soon,_

_Martin Carroll_

_Scouting, Las Vegas Aces_

_(702) 542-6544_

 

Will finds himself staring at his phone, unable to form a thought that doesn’t involve at least double-digit usages of expletives. Not one of the other scouts made any mention of his sexuality or Derek, because as far as he knew, it wasn’t supposed to be a problem. The NHL and most of the individual teams had begun aggressively supporting You Can Play throughout the ’16-’17 season and had continued to do so through the ’17-’18 season. What was the point of that if teams were just going to turn around and use players’ sexualities to make decisions about who sign?

 

The Falconers have the league’s only out players—Jack, Tater, Snowy and Parse—but Will had assumed that was only coincidence. Queer people tend to flock (just look at the Samwell Men’s Hockey Team), so he figured it was that, not a conscious policy by the Falconers to attract queer players (or a conscious policy by other teams to reject them).

 

There was only way to find out for sure which it was.

 

Will closes out his email and pulls up his contacts, tapping on one and pressing the device to his ear, trying to tamp down on his dueling emotions of rage, fear and growing disappointment.

 

“Um, hello?”

 

“Hey Jack.”

 

“Dex? Why are you calling me?” Jack asks.

 

“I have a question. About NHL things,” Will says. “Just like, something I need to consider as I decide which scouts to talk to.”

 

“Euh, sure? I don’t know how much I’ll be able to answer, but I’ll try,” Jack replies questioningly.

 

“Why are the only openly out players on the Falconers?” Will inquires. “Is it just coincidence? Or did you all choose to be there because you felt that like, queer connection, or did the Falconers like actively seek you guys out? Because I’ve been getting emails from scouts most of the day and I just—one of them mentioned concern about my ‘alternative’ lifestyle and I need to know if it’s just him and that team or—”

 

“—if he was just the only one to say it,” Jack finishes.

 

“Yeah.”

 

Jack exhales, sighing softly. “Which team was the scout from?”

 

“The Aces,” Will answers.

 

“I’m not surprised,” Jack replies flatly.

 

“What? Why aren’t you surprised?” Will responds, eyebrows furrowing in confusion, unsure as to why the Aces are so special that Jack can give that reply so automatically and without any kind of shock evident in his voice.

 

Jack is quiet for a moment, and Will can almost see the pained expression on his face as he figures out what to say. “I don’t know the whole story and—there might be rumors but I don’t know what you’ve heard and—from what little Parse has said to me, it seems like his sexuality was largely the reason he got traded here,” he says.

 

“He got traded because he’s gay and the Aces are homophobic.”

 

“Yeah. Apparently he was constantly clashing with management and—remember when he punched his teammate? That was the last straw,” Jack says.

 

“Oh.” Will pauses for a moment before speaking again, considering what that means. Obviously, he’s going to have to give the Aces a “thanks but no thanks” response, but that doesn’t tell him much about anyone else. “How am I supposed to know who’s safe to talk to then?”

 

“I’m not sure what to tell you Dex,” Jack says, sighing again. “It’s—some teams are working on it—the league is still way behind the rest of the world.”

 

“But it’s getting better right?” Will questions, fighting off the sinking feeling in his chest he’s experiencing at Jack’s words. “You know, with all the stuff _You Can Play_ is doing? What about all the teams that are doing ‘Hockey is for Everyone’ nights and using pride tape and all that?”

 

“Dex,” Jack says expectantly. “I _know_ that you know that most of the teams are doing it to avoid the negative publicity that comes with not participating.”

 

Will slumps back into his desk chair. “I know,” he answers.

 

“You’d be fine if you picked the Falcs, and maybe the Sabres or Bruins but—I don’t know. I’m not familiar enough with all the teams to say. You’re going to have to be very, _very_ careful if you talk to anyone besides the Falcs,” Jack says.

 

“So if I decide I don’t want to play with the Falcs, and I talk to other teams and they tell me they have a problem with Nursey being my boyfriend—what do I do?” Will asks, not necessarily because he’s opposed to playing in Providence, but because he wants to explore all his options.

 

“There isn’t much you can do,” Jack answers, his voice a little sad. “The NHL doesn’t have any anti-discrimination rules regarding sexuality. You could probably play the PR card—just because the NHL doesn’t have any rules about it doesn’t mean it wouldn’t look bad to the public.”

 

“But that’s a he-said she-said thing. Who would believe me?”

 

“I don’t know,” Jack answers. “Enough people might that it could make a team balk at withdrawing an offer. Otherwise your only option is to walk away from that team.”

 

Will frowns. “Those aren’t great options.”

 

“As a college graduate just entering the league, this is almost a no-win situation,” Jack explains. “All I can say is that your best hope of ending up somewhere safe is going to the Falconers. Are they one of the teams that sent you an email?”

 

“Yeah. Georgia emailed me,” Will replies.

 

“She contacted you personally?”

 

“Yeah.”

 

“She only personally contacts players she’s really keen on signing. She mostly left that behind when she took over the GM position, but there are still a few guys that she really cares about getting, and you’re apparently on of those guys,” Jack says.

 

“Listen Jack, it’s not that I’m flattered by that,” Will mumbles, running a hand through his hair, “but if I play on the Falconers, I’m probably going to end up being known as ‘Jack’s former college teammate’ you know? Don’t get me wrong, you’re a great player and I like you and look up to you, but if I’m going to play in the NHL—”

 

“—you want to make your own mark, not end up in my shadow,” Jack says, reaching Will’s conclusion for him. “It’s okay. I get it.”

 

“You do?”

 

“Yeah,” Jack says. “I—euh, I haven’t really told anyone this, but when I was looking at team to sign with, I got offers from both the Pens and Habs. But I never really considered them, because I didn’t want to go somewhere where I would be in my papa’s shadow. I know I always will be, to a certain extent, but it would’ve been worse in those places and—I didn’t want to deal with that.”

 

“It’s not that I would be resentful of it or anything, and it’s not that I’m saying I won’t sign with Falconers ever, it’s just—I want to see if there’s another chance out there.”

 

“I’ll let George know, if you want me to. She’ll keep your spot open while you take a look around, and if you don’t find anything you like, you can come here,” Jack says.

 

“That’s—yeah, that would be nice. Thanks Jack.”

 

“You’re welcome,” Jack responds. “And uh—good luck.”

 

“Thanks. Bye,” Will says, and then hangs up.

 

Will’s conflicted, unsure of what he’s going to do—what he _wants_ to do. He’s got the Falconers as a fallback, but he was serious when he said he didn’t want to play in Jack’s shadow, but playing in the NHL is playing in the NHL. And maybe Jack is wrong—some high-caliber teams had contacted him, and he would love to play for them. Maybe when he talks to them, he’ll find they’re more accepting than Jack expects them to be.

 

But maybe Jack is right, and Will is terrified of getting trapped in a situation with a team that doesn’t accept him. It’s not fair to him, and it’s certainly not fair to Derek. If Will trusts the wrong team and puts them both in that situation, he risks having to let Derek go, because he refuses to let Derek suffer because of his choices.

 

That’s something he’s going to have to think on pretty hard. It goes without saying that he will always put their relationship over anything pretty much anything else. The question is how much risk Will is willing to accept, if he’s wrong.

 

But for now, he gets up and plops down on the bed, because Derek came up just shortly after he hung up on Jack, and was making grabby hands at him. He’s never claimed to have strong resolve when it comes to his boyfriend, and Derek has (since they started dating) been a calming, stabilizing force for Will when there are too many thoughts rattling around in his head. Maybe some snuggles and a good night’s sleep will make the choice clearer to him.

* * *

 

The next day, while Derek is in class, Will sits down at the desk with a piece of paper and a pen, hoping that by outlining his options, the right one will become clear to him. However, after ten minutes, he has seven options outlined on his paper, and none seem to be jumping out at him:

  1. _Get a job instead of going into the NHL_
  2. _Take the known option and sign with the Falconers_
  3. _Contact the Sabres and Bruins in the hopes that they have interest_
  4. _Respond to emails and try to gage their stance on LGBTQ+ issues without revealing anything specific_
  5. _Be straight (ha) forward and respond with specific mentions of LGBTQ+ issues and how it relates_
  6. _Make it so can’t be forced into closet without team looking bad_
  7. _Other???_



It is, as Jack said, an almost unwinnable situation for him. He would rather not play in Jack’s shadow, but he doesn’t want to end up back in the closet. And while option #1 seems like an easy way to avoid both those issues, if Will is being honest, he’d much rather play in the NHL.

 

Not to say that he doesn’t enjoy computer programming, it’s just—there’s far more money that he might be able to make in the NHL. Computer science was a great second option, if hockey dead-ended for him at the end of college, but hockey—Will loves hockey more than anything in the world, besides Derek. In fact, the list of things he cares most about in the world goes Derek, his family, hockey and programming. He would never let the last two take one of the first two away from him, but most especially Derek. Nothing will make him give Derek up, ever.

 

_Ever._

 

The word echoes in Will’s mind. The ease with which something so permanent came to him is unexpected, but weirdly, it’s not that surprising. Derek is the most important thing in his life, and he has been for almost three years. Ever since that night when, after watching movies in his room with Derek until three in the morning, Will had turned and smiled sleepily at Derek, their eyes locked and he started leaning in, and Derek had cupped his face and kissed him like he’d been waiting for months to do so (spoiler alert: he actually _had_ been waiting for that for months), Will’s always had this strange feeling in his stomach about Derek.

 

At that time, the feeling had been scary and altogether too much, so Will pushed it away and repressed it (something he had always been skilled at). But it resurfaced every so often—like that time in the chilly evening air, when Derek grabbed his hand and they walked into Winter Screw together. Or the first time Derek picked up Dex’s youngest cousin Eva and listened intently as she babbled away about the doll her parents had given her for Christmas. Or that night in their hotel room after they’d just won the NCAA title. Or right now.

 

All along he’s had this feeling about Derek—about _them_ —and now, as the future stares Will in the face, when he’s finally forced to think about their future (after avoiding it for nearly three years), it’s that one word. Ever. With that one word, it all finally clicks for Will.

 

As he allows his mind to wander, to daydream and start to construct a picture of the coming years, he realizes it’s a startlingly familiar image. It’s Derek sitting at the kitchen table, scribbling in one of his many leather-bound journals while Will cooks dinner. It’s Derek lying next to Will in a massively oversized (and comfortable) bed, peering down at a book through reading glasses, the light of the lamp next to their bed glinting off his hair and illuminating the touches of silver in it. It’s Derek on the couch, having fallen asleep while waiting for Will to come home from work late.

 

Derek is **_it_** for Will. Derek’s there, he’s always been there, and he always will be—or at least Will wants him to always be there. Now that he’s imagining it, he can’t see a future without Derek there.

 

With all that laid out so plainly for Will to see, a realization hits him so hard he nearly falls off the chair. He wants to marry Derek. Holy _fuck_ , he wants to marry Derek!

 

Will glances down, catching sight of his list of options—the list that lead him to this moment, and catches sight of the sixth option he wrote down: _make it so can’t be forced into closet without team looking bad._ Having Derek as his fiancée or husband would easily accomplish just that, but it’s not about the NHL anymore. He wants to marry Derek, and he wants to do it as soon as possible because he loves Derek and can’t imagine a future without him by his side, not because he wants to force some NHL team to give him the respect that he, admittedly, rightly deserves.

 

Will snatches up the list, crumpling it up in a ball and tossing it in the trash before he bolts from their room, taking the steps down two at a time. Now that he knows what he wants, there’s not a moment to lose.

* * *

 

It’s not until the next day that Will is prepared to talk to Derek—ready is far from the right word, because he’ll never truly be ready for what he’s about to do. He stands just outside the closed door to their room, taking slow, measured breaths as he stares at the fading varnish covering the grainy wood of the door.

 

Derek is inside, probably still sitting at the desk like he was when Will left a half hour ago. He’s just having what he (much to Will’s never-ending annoyance) calls a “chill brainstorm sesh.” Will doesn’t have to feel guilty about interrupting him, and he isn’t. He’s far too anxious to be feeling anything else.

 

Finally, after a minute—or ten—it’s hard to tell since he can’t seem to focus on anything other than the rapid beating of his heart, he reaches out and turns the knob, stepping into the room. Derek looks up at the sound, far from focused on his work, and smiles when he sees Will. Will exhales, a bit of the tension leaving his shoulders as he sees the warmth in Derek’s face.

 

“ _I can do this_ ,” he mentally tells himself as he walks over to Derek.

 

Derek cocks his head to the side when Will puts a hand on his shoulder. “Hey, can you uh—I mean, will you sit on the bed with me? I want to talk to you about something,” Will says, before hastily tacking on when Derek frowns, “it’s nothing bad, I promise.”

 

Derek nods, flips his journal closed and stands up, walking over to the bed. He sits with his back against the wall, his feet just hanging off the edge of the bed. Derek pats his lap, and Will lays down, putting his head in Derek’s lap so Derek can run his fingers through his hair while he talks.

 

Derek begins carding his hands through Will’s hair, and Will sighs contentedly. Derek is quiet, his expression open and patient as he waits for Will to work up the courage to start talking.

 

Will bites his lip. “It’s—well, it’s about the future. My—fuck, I mean _our_ future.” Derek’s body stills momentarily as he tenses up, so Will quickly barrels on. “I uh—I got contacted by a couple scouts. From NHL teams. Like there are teams interested in signing me.”

 

“Babe, that’s great!” Derek says encouragingly, though there’s a hint of hesitancy in his voice, as if he’s not totally sure that it _is_ a great thing.

 

“Um, well—it was great, at first,” Will continues to explain. “But then I got an email from uh—one of the Aces scouts.”

 

“Oh?” Derek says, raising an eyebrow quizzically.

 

“Yeah, they—they have a problem with my—they don’t like that I’m gay. And that have a boyfriend. That I talk about on social media. A lot,” Will blurts out, bringing a hand up to nervously fiddle with the hem of Derek’s shirt.

 

“Oh. Shit,” Derek mutters. “Are you sure that—”

 

“It’s just that one guy?” Will completes, anticipating Derek’s question before he can even finish it (a skill that comes pretty easily after nearly three years together). Derek nods.

 

“That’s what I was thinking, but I called Jack just to be sure, you know? And he uh—he told me that other than the Falcs and maybe one or two other teams—well, that it might be the same thing,” Will says. “He didn’t know for sure, but he thinks that maybe the Aces were the only ones bold enough to bring it up at the very start. Apparently they feel like they got burned or something by Parse.”

 

“So? It’s still bullshit,” Derek says, his voice flat—which is only something he does when he’s dangerously angry or irritated and afraid of saying something overly venomous. Knowing this, Will presses on.

 

“Yeah, but there’s not anything I can do about it. Jack said the only teams he can be like, mostly sure about are the Falcs, Bruins and Sabres. But the Falcs are the only team that contacted me and I—I’m not sure about signing with them.”

 

“Because of Jack,” Derek supplies.

 

“Not Jack specifically, just his shadow. I don’t want to be Jack’s old college teammate, I want to be William Poindexter, defenseman,” Will explains.

 

Derek hums, nodding his head understandingly. “So what are you going to do?” Derek asks. “Are you going to reach out to one of those other safe teams or just not play in the NHL?”

 

“Uh—neither.”

 

Derek furrows his brow, but doesn’t say anything.

 

“So while I was considering my options, I came up with one that I kind of—well, no, that’s not right. I came up with this option and while I was just thinking—about the future in general and all that, I had this realization. You uh—do you remember the night of the championship? When I was like, overwhelmed and crying and shit?” Will pauses to wait for Derek to respond, which he does with a nod.

 

“I was feeling a lot of things and it was just like, hard to figure it all out. You know I’m not really very good with feelings so I just couldn’t, like process it all. But then I was thinking about the future and us and I kinda just, suddenly got it, you know? It’s a feeling that’s always been there, like ever since we kissed the first time.”

 

Will sits up, turning around and sitting cross-legged next to Derek. He gently slides one of Derek’s hands out of his hair and grips it tightly, forcing himself to look Derek in the eye despite the strong urge to just close his own.

 

“ I was just—I started thinking about it and when I was seeing the future, like five, ten, twenty years down the road, you were always there, and I just realized that that feeling was just like, me, feeling like I always want you to be right by my side, with me for like, forever.”

 

Derek inhales sharply, his eyes going wide.

 

“And there’s going to be a lot that happens in the next month or so. Exams, graduation, all that shit. People are going to be moving and moving on and I just—I want to make sure you want to come with me, wherever I go—or the other way around, if that’s how it works out. But I—I want us to be committed to working through this together and being a team no matter how the future turns out.”

 

“You know I’m not good with words and like, this is probably already terrible and I’ve used ‘like’ and ‘just’ too many times and I’m guessing this is definitely not what you imagined but I just—as soon as I realized what all that meant and what I wanted for us, I just couldn’t wait?

 

Will pauses, digging into his pocket and pulling out the small felt box that he picked up before he came up to the attic. “So um—Derek, will you marry me?” he asks, opening up the box to reveal two simple, white gold bands.

 

Will holds his breath as he watches Derek’s face, waiting for a reaction, an answer—anything that will tell him that this wasn’t a mistake. There are tears starting to streak down Derek’s face, and while Will has seen Derek without his “chill” façade a lot since they started dating, he’s never seen him quite like this.

 

“Derek?” Will says, because an eternity (30 seconds, really) has passed, and he still doesn’t know what Derek’s reaction means, how he feels about Will’s sudden proposal.

 

“Oh my God, I’m— _fuck_ , I wasn’t expecting anything like this,” Derek replies wetly.

 

“I—shit, I should’ve known—” Will starts, something curling in his stomach tight and sick and—

 

“No, no!” Derek cuts him off hurriedly. “It’s um—it was surprising but it’s—it’s a good one. I—of course I’ll marry you!”

 

Will exhales in relief. “I—thank God. I thought for a second there you were going to say no!” he says, wiping at his own eyes as he notices that he’s started crying too.

 

“No, I would’ve never—if you had asked me even two years ago, I would’ve said yes,” Derek says, pulling Will into a tight embrace.

 

“But we hadn’t—”

 

“I know, but it was the same for me, I just had that feeling right from the beginning,” Derek explains. “The difference is that it didn’t take me as long to figure out what it meant.”

 

Will snorts. “Well we can’t all be perfectly in touch with our feelings like you.”

 

“Don’t worry, I have my moments,” Derek retorts playfully.

 

“Yeah, like once every three years,” Will responds and they both laugh because they both know Derek isn’t as good with his feelings as he’d like to claim he is.

 

“So, Poindexter, are you going to put that ring on me, or am I just supposed to admire its beauty from the box?” Derek asks, earning him a slight shove from Will.

 

“I was getting there!” Will says, pulling a ring from the box (it doesn’t matter which one—they conveniently have the same sized fingers, and therefore the same ring size). “They’re um—well, they’re not fancy. I had a little bit of money saved up but even then you know that I don’t have the kind of money to get anything other than—well, I got them engraved on the inside.”

 

“Really?” Derek questions, grabbing the other ring, holding it up as he squints at it, even though he won’t be able to read it unless he puts on his glasses.

 

“Yeah. I mean, it just says ‘Nursey + Dex’ and the date we met,” Will says, shrugging.

 

“The date we met? You mean the tour?” Derek asks, and Will nods. “Why that day? Why not the day we first kissed?”

 

Dex flushes, looking down and fiddling with the box in his hand. “I’ve never admitted this to anyone but—meeting you on that tour—well, really just seeing you, since we didn’t talk much that day—that was the reason I chose Samwell over some place closer to home. So if—if not for that, this— _us_ —wouldn’t be a thing. We’re spending the rest of our lives together because of that tour.”

 

“That’s—so embarrassing. And yet so sweet,” Derek says.

 

“Shuddup,” Will mumbles.

 

Derek gently grabs Will’s chin, lifting his head and planting a gentle kiss on his lips. “No really, that’s so thoughtful. I love it.”

 

“Okay, now who’s keeping me from putting the ring on?” Will chirps, mostly to keep from kissing Derek until he can’t breathe (because if that happens, one thing will lead to another and—well, there are people in the Haus).

 

“Alright, fine, I’ll stop and let you do it now,” Derek huffs, putting out his hand for Will. Will slips the ring on, then offers his hand to Derek.

 

“You’re planning on wearing a ring before the wedding?” Derek questions.

 

“Really, you think I want to ascribe to that hetero bullshit?” Will scoffs. “I’ve never understood why guys didn’t wear their own sign of commitment prior to their wedding. I mean, they’re just as engaged as their fiancée, why aren’t they wearing a ring too?”

 

“You’ve come a long way from when I first met you, William Jacob Poindexter,” Derek says with a grin.

 

As Derek is putting the ring on Will’s finger, they can hear the sounds of footsteps pounding on the hallway floor outside their room, followed by Chris shouting “Bitty!”

 

“They’re here already?” Will questions.

 

“I’m sure Bitty wanted to get started on baking as early as possible,” Derek says with a dreamy, toothy grin.

 

“It’s not like he has _that_ many to bake for,” Will says. “It’s just going to be Shitty, Lardo, Ransom, Holster, Ollie, Wicks and okay I see your point.”

 

Their closest former teammates are coming to the Haus for the official championship “kegster extravaganza” (Holster chose the name because “we’ve gotta distinguish it from Epikestger _somehow_ ”). Listening to the cacophony suddenly drifting up the stairs, Will is struck with yet another sudden and incredibly impulsive idea (that’s two in two days which—that _has_ to be some kind of personal record).

 

“Hey Derek, this is going to sound absolutely crazy but—well, you know all of our friends are going to be here soon and we’ve both just said that we’ve known for a while that we’re meant to be together forever and I just—I don’t want to wait, and everything seems aligned, like now is the perfect time,” Will spouts rapidly before he can rationalize his way out of doing this.

 

“The perfect time for what?” Derek asks, cocking his head to the side in curiosity.

 

“Getting married,” Will answers.

 

Derek turns his head, looking toward the door, in the direction of all the noise as more people arrive and join in greeting everyone. “All of our best friends are going to be here,” he murmurs mostly to himself, before turning his gaze back to Will. “Fuck, you’re right, this is the perfect time. Let’s do it. Let’s go down to the courthouse and get married.”

 

“Great. Great, fuck, okay, I’ll go downstairs and tell the guys what’s happening, you pick out something for us to wear?”

 

“Yeah!” Derek agrees, jumping up and bounding over to their closet. “Wait, what are you supposed to wear for a courthouse wedding?”

 

“I don’t know,” Will answers. “Just something nice, I guess? Not like _tux_ nice, but like, _dress shirt and tie_ nice maybe?”

 

Derek silently mulls his suggestion over before nodding. “Yeah, okay. Now go and tell everyone. And try not to let them suffocate you while they’re hugging you. I want my fiancée alive for the wedding.”

 

Will chuckles and shrugs. “I’ll try, but between Chowder and Bitty, I make no promises.”

 

“What if you just shouted it from the top of the stairs?” Derek suggests.

 

“They might all try to come up the stairs at once, and I don’t know if those poor things can take ten hockey boys,” Will responds. “And if they break the stairs, then how will we get out of the Haus to get married in the first place?”

 

“We can figure it out. I mean, it’s you or the stairs babe,” Derek replies jokingly.

 

Will huffs an overdramatic sigh. “Fine, but if they do break them, you’re going to have to help me fix them,” Will says.

 

“The point of my suggestion was to avoid bodily injury,” Derek grumbles.

 

Will laughs and shakes his head as he steps out of the room, padding the few steps to the top of the stairs.

 

“Hey!” he yells over the sounds of a mass of hockey boys all trying to greet each other at the same time. He has to repeat himself a few times, but eventually every one notices him and quiets down.

 

The last one to stop talking is Chris, who shouts excitedly, “Dex look! Everyone is here already!”

 

“Good,” Will answers. “Because uh—”

 

“ _Wait_ , hold the fuck up,” Adam says, quickly taking advantage of Will’s momentary hesitation. “What is that on your hand?”

 

“I was getting to that,” Will responds, slightly annoyed. “It’s a ring—”

 

“Why do you—” Justin starts to interrupt, but Will talks over him.

 

“—and I’m wearing a ring—”

 

“OH MY GOD DEREK ASKED YOU TO MARRY HIM!!!” Chris all but shrieks.

 

“He did _not_ ,” Will corrects forcefully.

 

“Wait, if he didn’t, then why are you—”

 

“Because _I_ asked him to marry _me_ ,” Will continues.

 

“Brah—”

 

“And we’re going down to the courthouse in like, an hour to do it,” Will finally finishes, and God he loves these guys, they’re like his family, but it’s hard to tell them any significant news because they love to jump to their conclusions.

 

“Good _Lord_ , I need to start baking immediately!” Eric says. “What kind of pie do y’all want?”

 

“Uh—”

 

“Never mind, I’m going to make every kind!” Eric interrupts before disappearing into the kitchen.

 

“How is he going to have time to make all those pies?” Will asks, and Jack just shrugs.

 

“I don’t question it anymore.”

 

“Bro, can we be flower girls?” Justin and Adam ask.

 

“Uh—” Will frowns, before deciding it’s not worth it to question why they would want to. “You know what, why not?”

 

“Sweet!” they reply, turning to give each other a high five.

 

“I can take pictures,” Jack offers.

 

“Sure,” Will says, grateful that for the quick diversion from whatever plans Adam and Justin might be cooking up. “I guess that means that Shitty and Chowder will be our—whatever you call them.”

 

“Ooh, they’re called attendants!” Chris supplies excitedly. “At least, that’s what Cait and I are going to call them at our wedding!”

 

“Yeah, that’s it. And uh, everyone else—you should come and watch, okay? I mean, you don’t have to but—”

 

“There will be no pie anyone who doesn’t go!” Eric shouts from the kitchen.

 

“Yeah, let’s go with that,” Will says, because arguing with Eric right now would probably be useless. “We’re leaving here in an hour then, I guess.”

 

There’s a brief moment where everyone is nodding in acknowledgement, and then the group explodes into chaos. Will turns and sprints back to his and Derek’s room before the sudden flurry of activity can swallow him up.

 

Will shuts the door and leans up against it heavily.

 

“Sounds like it didn’t go too badly,” Derek says, picking a couple hangers up off the bed.

 

“As well as could be expected, I guess,” Will answers.

 

“That’s chill,” Derek says and Will doesn’t bother to hold back his eye roll; Derek, for his part, doesn’t react. Derek holds up the clothes so Will can examine them. “What do you think of this?”

 

“For you or for me?”

 

Derek shrugs. “Doesn’t matter,” he says. “But it is just a white shirt, black pants and tie, which I know is more your style so—”

 

“Yeah, of course,” Will says, taking them from Derek.

 

“You do realize my moms are going to kill us for not inviting them to our wedding, right?” Derek asks as Will shucks off his shirt.

 

“Oh, my dads are going to have a conniption,” Will answers, shrugging on the white dress shirt.

 

“ _Conniption_. That’s a good word,” Derek says.

 

“It’s certainly fancier than saying that they’ll throw a fit.”

 

“Have I ever mentioned that I love it when you use fancy words?” Derek says, walking over to tie Will’s tie (not that Will needs him to—he just likes it when he does).

 

“Yes, every time I use a ‘fancy’ word,” Will says, rolling his eyes slightly. “You know, I used to have a very no-frills vocabulary before you came along. Now I use big, fancy words all the time.”

 

“It’s one of the hazards of dating an English major,” Derek says with a shrug. “So, what are we going to do about our parents?”

 

“I don’t know, I’m making this up as I go,” Will responds. “I hadn’t gotten that far yet.”

 

“William Poindexter, making things up as he goes along? What hashtag personal growth,” Derek chirps. Will playfully pushes Derek’s face away. “Okay, but for real, there’s nothing that says we can’t have a quickie courthouse wedding and a traditional ceremony. I like, see it happen all the time on TV.”

 

“This isn’t TV,” Will says, bending over to tie his shoes (and yes, Derek ogles his ass a bit, and Will definitely smirks to himself). “Do you really think your moms and my dads are going to be happy that we didn’t make sure they could be there for the real wedding—you know, the moment it becomes official?”

 

“It doesn’t matter whether they’re happy or not,” Derek replies, shrugging. “If this is what we want to do, then they’ll just have to deal. They can’t make us wait if we don’t want to.”

 

“Right.” Will nods, then stands up to look at Derek, his hands settling on Derek’s hips. “Wait, this is _really_ what you want to do, right? You sure you didn’t just get caught up in my enthusiasm/emotions?”

 

“Yeah, I’m really fucking sure,” Derek says, lifting his hands to rest them on Will’s shoulders. “I love you, and I want to be with you forever, and I don’t want to wait to make it official. I want to be Derek Malik Poindexter. I’m ready to be your husband, right now.”

 

Will’s heart trips in his chest and his eyes widen. “Did you just—”

 

“Yeah. Derek Malik Poindexter. I want to take your last name.”

 

Will’s mouth opens and closes several times before any words managed to come out. “I thought we were going to hyphenate or I was going to take yours and I—why in the world would you want mine?”

 

“My mom went back to her maiden name when she divorced my dad, but he never let her change mine,” Derek says. “He’s a piece of shit, and I don’t want any connection to him. My name is the last thing left, besides, you know, the inescapability of genetics.”

 

“But Poindexter is—”

 

“Dumb? Stupid?” Derek says. “Nah, I don’t think so. But even if it was, I’d want your dumb and stupid last name because it’s yours.”

 

“Is that—”

 

“Yeah, it’s what I want. Besides, don’t you think inflicting the long-ass last name of Nurse-Poindexter on our children would be cruel?” Derek questions with a grin.

 

“Fuck off, if we were going to hyphenate it would be Poindexter-Nurse and—shit, did you say _our children_?”

 

“Uh—”

 

“Hey Cait, did I leave my tie at your place—why do I need it? Dex and Nursey are getting married—yes, right now!”

 

Will is thankful that the walls of the Haus are thin, because talking about him and Nursey adopting kids together is just too much for his brain right now.

 

“Yo, C, you can borrow a tie if you need one,” Derek says to him, loudly enough that Chris will be able to hear him from his room, and looking as visibly relieved as Will feels.

 

“But you don’t have to dress up!” Will adds.

 

“Oh, I guess I don’t need one,” Chris says. “Wait you want to—one second—hey guys, can Cait come to the wedding?”

 

“Sure, but just her,” Will answers. “We don’t need to take up the whole courthouse.”

 

“Okay, they say you can come—what should you wear? I don’t know, something nice—well, that because you look pretty in everything—yes, even sweatpants!”

 

“Just tell her to wear jeans and a nice shirt,” Derek rapidly cuts in, and Will sighs in relief. They don’t need Chris and Caitlin to get into another variation of that “argument” (it’s not really an argument, just the two of them tossing compliments back and forth which is—cute, but also gross).

 

“Are you ready?” Will asks, turning his attention back to Derek and tuning out whatever Chris and Caitlin might be talking about now.

 

“I’ve been ready for this day for two years,” Derek replies.

 

“Overachiever,” Will mutters, linking hands with Derek as they walk out of their room.

* * *

 

When they walk into the courthouse, they immediately gain the attention of everyone already in the building. Not that Will is surprised; 11 noisy hockey players and one volleyball player all entering at one time was bound to noticed. They follow the signs to the County Clerk’s office (Will looked up that that was the place to get a marriage license).

 

They crowd into the room as the secretary looks up at them with wide eyes. “C-can I help you?” he asks, his slightly terrified gaze quickly flitting between them.

 

“Yeah bro, you definitely can!” Adam says, pushing Will and Derek forward before they have the chance to say anything. “These two swawesome dudes want to get married!”

 

“I’m starting to think bringing them with us was a bad idea,” Derek mumbles softly, leaning over to speak into Will’s ear.

 

“Oh, you’re just figuring that out?” Will quips.

 

“Chill,” Derek replies, bumping into Will with his shoulder.

 

“Um, well, you two want to get married?” the secretary questions.

 

“Uh, duh—” Justin starts to say before Will cuts him off.

 

“We can speak for ourselves, thanks,” Will says.

 

“We’re just trying to be helpful,” Adam says, pouting slightly. “That is why you asked to come, wasn’t it?”

 

“To help with the ceremony, not all the paperwork bullshit,” Will responds testily.

 

“Relax Will,” Derek says, running a hand up and down Will’s arm.

 

“I think we should wait for them back in the lobby,” Jack says, his voice slipping into his familiar, authoritative captain’s voice.

 

“Darlin’, I think that’s an excellent idea,” Eric agrees hurriedly, starting to push the mass of players out of the room (over Adam and Justin’s protests).

 

“Sorry about that,” Derek says, turning back to the secretary once they’ve all left.

 

“It’s um—never mind, just take this and fill it out, follow the signs to courtroom three, have the judge sign it, and then bring it back here. The clerk will also sign it, and then you’ll be married,” he instructs, all but throwing the license and a pen at them, then adding under his breath, “I don’t get paid enough for this.”

 

“He was pleasant, wasn’t he?” Derek questions facetiously.

 

Will shrugs. “Who knows what he has to deal with every day. Besides, we did just try to stuff 12 very large, very loud people into his office.”

 

“I forget that most people aren’t used to that kind of chaos,” Derek acknowledges.

 

“Yeah,” Will says absently as he looks over the certificate that the secretary handed him. “So we just—follow the signs to courtroom three.”

 

“Yeah, that’s what he said,” Derek says, even though Will was mostly talking to himself. “And we can fill that out while we wait for the judge.”

 

“But what if there isn’t a wait?” Will questions, tugging at the collar of his shirt.

 

Derek shrugs. “Then they can wait for us. Relax babe, it’s going to be fine.”

 

Will nods, letting Derek grab his hand and gently tug him toward courtroom three.

 

“You got it?” Adam asks, perking up when they get there. Derek nods as Will looks around for a pen. “Swawesome!” Adam says as Derek softly presses a pen into Will’s hand.

 

“So what are you going to do for last names?” Chris inquires, bounding up to them energetically. “When Cait and I get married, we’re totally going to hyphenate but I know not everyone wants to do that especially since Dex’s last name is so long—a”

 

“The whole last name thing is a bullshit patriarchal concept you should just fucking keep your own,” Shitty interjects.

 

“Boys! Would y’all give them some space!” Eric says, pushing through to the front so he can push Adam, Justin, Chris and Shitty back. “Good Lord, I do not understand why you wanted everyone to come for a courthouse weddin’.”

 

“You’re our family,” Derek says as Will sits down on the bench directly behind where him and Derek are standing to start filling in their information. “I can’t— _we_ can’t imagine getting married without everyone here.”

 

“Well, I’m glad you let us come,” Eric says, beaming at them. “Gosh, I wonder if the two frogs I met four years ago would believe y’all would end up here?”

 

“I can’t speak for Derek, but I wouldn’t have,” Will says, standing up now that he’s finished filling the license out. “At first, I thought we couldn’t have been more different and ill-suited for each other. But now—”

 

“Now, we know we’re a perfect match,” Derek finishes, throwing an arm around Will’s shoulders and placing a kiss on his temple.

 

“Sometimes, I still don’t understand it. But who am I to question fate?” Eric says, pulling both of them into a hug. “I’m so happy for you two.”

 

“Thanks Bits,” Will says. “And uh—by the way, Derek decided that he wants to take my name,” he adds, addressing the whole room when Eric pulls away.

 

“Oh! That’s—” Chris says, then stops and frowns. “But wait, if you’re not Derek Nurse anymore, does that mean we have to stop calling you Nursey?”

 

“Nah C, I’m keeping the nickname,” Derek says, patting Chris’ shoulder in reassurance.

 

“Okay!” Chris replies, grinning again. “Derek Poindexter. That’s still going to take some getting used to!”

 

“Yeah, but it’s totally worth it,” Derek answers.

 

“Next?” a voice calls out over the din.

 

“Oh, I think that’s you!” Chris says, hopping excitedly. “You’re getting married, oh my god!”

 

“Chris, baby, calm down,” Caitlyn says, grabbing his hand.

 

“I’m sorry I’m sorry, it’s just my two best friends are getting married and I’m so excited!!!” Chris says.

 

She continues to talk to Chris as they enter the courtroom, Will and Derek at the head of the group. The nameplate for the judge says that her name is Christine Robertson, though the person sitting on the bench is almost decidedly not her, unless the ancient looking man sitting behind the bench is named Christine.

 

“So you kids are getting married,” he says gruffly as Will steps forward and hands him the completed license.

 

“Yes, your honor,” Derek answers.

 

“And this isn’t some joke or dare?”

 

“Does it—” Will starts to retort before Derek cuts him off.

 

“No, your honor. This is totally serious.”

 

“Mmm,” the judge hums. “Alright then, if everything on here is in order and correct then—”

 

“Wait, you’re not going to do any kind of ceremony or let us do vows or something?” Will asks as the judge moves to put pen to the certificate Will handed him.

 

“Kid, in case you haven’t guessed, this isn’t normally my job,” he replies. “I don’t know what the words I’m supposed to say are, and I don’t care to look it up. If you want that, then come back tomorrow. If you just want to get married, then shut up and let me sign the damn paper.”

 

“I—no, this is fine I was just—never mind,” Will says.

 

The judge continues to eye him for a long second before finally signing the paper and handing it back to him.

 

There’s plenty of whooping and hollering and pats on the back as they leave the courtroom to take the license back up to the clerk’s office, and they get plenty of dirty looks, but Will can’t find it within himself to care. He’s married to Derek, and his family is here with him—this is honestly the best day of his life, and he wouldn’t want to change any part of how it’s turned out.

* * *

 

A few days later, after he’s finally stopped alternating between admiring his ring and having sex with Derek, Will responds to the scouts who contacted him. Some of them flatly withdraw their interest when he tells him that he has a husband. One or two hem and haw, not go so far as to withdraw their interest, but clearly not pleased by the news. The only positive response is from Georgia Martin, not that Will is at all surprised.

 

Will shows Derek the email later when they’re lying in bed together.

 

“Huh. So you’re telling me that going to sign with the Falcs?” Derek questions.

 

Will ponders this for a moment, and funnily enough, he doesn’t feel any kind of apprehension about signing with them now.

 

“I guess I am,” he answers. “Now that we’re married, I don’t think it matters where I play hockey or if I play in anyone’s shadow. As long as you’re there with me, anything else is just a bonus.”

 

“How did I get stuck with such a sappy husband?” Derek says.

 

“Stuck? Nuh-uh, you don’t get to do that, you _chose_ this,” Will retorts playfully, gesturing to himself.

 

Derek’s eyes follow his hand, and he smirks. “I chose that dick. As for the rest—I could take it or leave it.”

 

“How did I end up marrying a fucking liar—”

 

“How dare you—”

 

_“Oh my God, this is almost worse than the sex!”_


End file.
